Not a Damsel
by Kyra1
Summary: Travel isn't always easy, and sometimes camping is worse.  Yuffie, Vincent and the sunset.


**Summary: **Travel isn't always easy, and sometimes camping is worse. Yuffie, Vincent and the sunset.

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><p><strong>Not a Damsel<strong>

by Kyra1

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The moment you announce to the world that you're the perfect cook, the next soufflé you bake will come out as flat as a pancake, or your oven will explode, or your family will die of food poisoning. It's a similar situation if you tell the world that you're the most awesome ninja, because then the next time you throw a shuriken it ricochets off a rock and hits an innocent bystander, or you stab yourself with your own throwing knives, or you find yourself hanging by your shoelaces out of a tree because a kimara bug had caught you mid leap trying to sneak into its nest. I might have fallen under the last one, after going through the other two.

What can I say; it seemed like a good idea at the time. And that was me, all leap before look. It wasn't really my fault that I was more action than thought. My old man would leave me with throwing knives and whatever grenades he'd managed to dig up around town when I was barely able to crawl. Great parenting skills. He tried to pass it off as letting me learn through experience, I maintain that it was his carelessness, but I did learn: which side was sharp, how not to hold a sleep grenade, where one shouldn't stand when trying out lightning materia, and how to get caught sneaking into a kimara's nest. The last of course being the most recent, as in the sole reason I was dangling upside down from a tree by my boots.

It shrieked and thrashed its wings in what I was pretty sure meant something like "The hell you doing in my house," or something worse that jolly old Cid had probably sworn at old man Shinra when he cut the space program. The sight of the bug shaking its head and crying out had me imagining crusty old Cid shouting out all those curses.

Normally, I'm an expert at humor as it just so happens to be up there on my list of things that I know a lot about like: sneaking, stealing, looking gorgeous and pummeling things. But that was the moment that I chose to fall into laughter.

Okay, back up, bad choice of words. Peel, clip, bust, but not fall, definitely not fall into laughter because that's exactly what happened when I started to laugh at the image of the great ninja that I am hanging upside down from a tree with a kimara bug swinging it's large pliers at me as though I were a human piñata. My boot slipped between the branches and I fell top over teakettle into the ground so that all the air whooshed out of me.

Kimara bugs really aren't the smartest little buggers out there. Not that they're small, because they're actually pretty large like someone's fear created a nightmarish cricket that got a bit too frisky with someone else's nightmarish cricket and then poof there was the first kimara. The point that I failed to make was that they are not at all smart; large heads and all that empty space.

Talk about an actual airhead. I can totally see the kimara bug as the monster all the other monsters made fun of at parties. He was probably told gullible was written on the ceiling, excepting that it wasn't and there wasn't even a ceiling for it to be written on. In fact I'm pretty sure all his monster friends were probably poking him on the shoulder just to watch him spin circles trying to figure out who had touched him.

The bobble head was jerking about trying to figure out where his favorite new piñata had disappeared to. _It was here a minute ago! _

Lucky for me, my ankle had broken my fall – only because I wasn't prepared – so that each time I pushed the ground with my toes in attempt to drag myself away, it would give beneath me. I was busy using my good leg to shove myself along the ground while my arms pulled at the roots. Only a little further and I could reach a small section of bushes where I could rethink my plan, if I ever had one.

I threw my weight into my legs and leapt. Instantly my ankle gave under a stab of pain. It was like that time we were all taking turns sparring with Cloud and he'd used the back of his sword to swipe my legs right out from under me. I crumpled to the ground hissing in air.

And that was it. Even old noodle brain couldn't mistake the sound. He jerked his head down, gurgling in his throat which I swear sounded more like the laughter of people that really aren't sure what they're laughing at because they lost all sense of reality a long time ago. It reared, trumpeting deep in its throat and swooped down.

I reacted, flinging my legs backwards and over my head so that I landed on my knees, the momentum sending me sprawling right onto my butt so that I had a perfect seat to see the kimara's front legs plow into the dirt where I just been.

Helplessly I glanced around. I probably didn't have another one of those in me, and the damn bug had flicked my shuriken away like it was a simple pest, and well the lightning materia that I had just gotten to break in had only made the big fella angry as if it didn't have a bad enough temper to begin with. Now he was like Sephiroth with a bad sunburn, assuming the man could sunburn. He was practically impervious so he probably laughed at the sun with skin that was SPF Inferno.

It shrieked and scrambled forward swinging a leg so that I felt my hair flutter as it passed over me.

When I thought about my death I had never really seen myself as a wrinkled old grandma rambling on about the good ole days to anyone that would listen, but being found crushed to death in the woods wasn't really deserving of such an awesome ninja. I wanted to be hanging by my boots again. Word would have gotten around. The last ride of Yuffie Kisaragi would have lived up to the name. Now that would be a way to go, not huddled in a pile of limbs waiting, just waiting to be broken.

Then as if trying to prove that my death was final and depressingly simple there were two quick rumbles of thunder, and apparently the overgrown cricket was actually a big scared kitten, because one minute he was drooling over me and the next he was recoiling against a tree.

Sure I'm stubborn and a bit reckless, but I'm not an idiot, no matter what Barret or Cid might have to say about that. The moment opportunity presented itself I had it thrust in my pocket and skidding down the streets like the sneaky little thief I was.

My sights were on the nearest bush and I was scrambling all limbs towards it with my good leg kicking up dirt and leaves so that I probably looked like a rabid animal. When I glanced back the overgrown bug was thrashing its arms at something.

Vincent.

That decided it. I wanted the kimara bug to come back and spear me with its leg. Now serving: Ninja kabobs.

Don't for a second think that I wasn't glad to see Vincent, because I was, thrilled even, busting at the seams. But I really wished it had been Cloud or Red, anyone other than ole Caped in Mysterious Gloom. Cloud would have simply killed the bug and asked what had happened. Red would have lectured me about being more careful. Now Tifa would have crooned over me, wine colored eyes filling with sadness and pity, and then I would have been blubbering too, because it's practically impossible to hold back tears when Tifa cries. It's practically a power. We should have sent her doe-eyed and dripping with tears to Sephiroth and his heart would have melted and rainbows would have flown out of his ass at the sight of her.

But Vincent. He was the worst. He'd look at me with those blood colored eyes and they would have reminded me of Tifa without all the tears. There would be all that pity in his eyes and pity from the Lord of Guilt himself would have torn me into little blades of grass. Then he would lecture me on being careful and request that I stay out of the way, because apparently I'm helpless.

I was just managing to make it to my feet when he approached. At first he said nothing, simply stared at me with those pitying eyes –apparently he never got the memo that said staring wasn't polite – and looked me up and down as though he half expected to see me without an arm or leg. Not that I could tell that's what he expected, because reading Vincent is like reading a rock… a tall dark rock that liked to take the blame for all the other rocks falling off the side of the cliff.

Okay, so I have to admit that my pride was a little wounded. I had managed to get myself in a sticky situation that I just wasn't able to get myself out of, but only because that tree had dropped me on my ankle. You see, I've always been anything but a damsel in distress.

At last he broke the awkward silence. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." I snapped, trying to sound upbeat despite the dropping feeling in my gut at the sight of his burning eyes, like my own father had caught me parading around my room in my mother's old kimonos when I was six and we were still stinging from the loss of her. "You didn't have to help."

"If you insist." He said simply.

It was almost like someone trying to cut me open using a spoon by the way he was always so distant and yet so sharp. Had it been Tifa after a minute of her blubbering all awe and sadness at me, she would have taken me by my elbows and asked between sobs if I was okay, and the moment she was certain I wasn't seriously injured she'd pinch my arm and shove me over backwards before threatening to feed me to the wolves. Nothing says Tifa love like being fed to the wolves.

But this was Vincent. Vincent just stared at me uncomfortably at having been the one to walk up at the predicament. Had I been strolling through the forest and come upon him hanging by his shoelaces from a tree I would have hooted with laughter for days to come after I saved his butt. He wasn't at all like that. He knew I felt like a tiny speck and he wasn't sure how to keep things from getting worse. Leave it to Vincent to actually try to save someone's pride.

At a great length in which I was sure he had probably exhausted all possible ideas on how to save my wounded ego, he cleared his throat and reached beneath his cloak where he unhooked my shuriken.

"Doom Star!" I yelled a little too excited to see that I hadn't actually lost my weapon. When I made to leap the distance between us my ankle stung so that I hissed and shifted my weight quickly so that I practically flopped forward.

Ever watchful, Vincent raised an eyebrow questioningly. Before he could manage a sound I waved him silent. "It's nothing."

He was sort of like a bear, and yeah I know that when you look at Vincent you don't really think bear because he's really rather small, not counting his height, but there was that bear attitude. Well, it was probably the noises. No matter what anyone says, no one can grunt quite like Vincent, or as often.

Hobbling the last of the distance between us, I snatched my Doom Star from his hand and placed the kind of sloppy kiss on one of the bluish silver blades that a kid would give his mother. "I thought I'd lost you!"

Apparently that's all it takes to snap him from my gorgeous but injured ankle, not that he could do much ogling through my socks, and I doubt that Vincent has ever ogled and I mean even before his coffin days. Either way he shifted his gaze back to me. "It was in the edge of the bushes." He paused and then his lips twitched. "Doom Star?"

If you haven't noticed already, Vincent has this way of making you feel that any idea you have no matter how grand it might actually be is really just equivalent to a child eating mud. If Tifa had the power to make others cry with her tears, then Vincent's power was to make you feel tiny. And gawd did he make me feel tiny every time I was near him.

"Yeah." I said doing my best to ignore the warming of my cheeks. "Don't think you boys are the only ones that should strike fear in people."

That little twitch of his lips triggered a monumental landslide on Valentine's face. It slid its way across him so that he had the smallest of smirks and I'll be damned it _was_ a smirk, and the sort that you know when someone's laughing at you rather than what you said or did.

Again, I tried to ignore it, because no matter how he felt about it, I knew it for fact. When I managed to get my hands on some blue steel I commissioned a weapon from a respectable smith back home. Something about it had reminded me of Tifa getting a new pair of shoes. The Conformer was a better weapon, so I didn't really need another shuriken, but sometimes I just can't keep that little girl in me from doing things like pulling people's hair or running down a hallway just to hear the echo of my boots, or getting a new weapon only for a sudden need to name one. You see, there's no way around it, the Conformer and Magic Shuriken just don't strike fear the same way Death Penalty or Apocalypse did. No one would be running from Origami anytime soon, unless they failed at folding paper or had too many paper cuts from mailing letters. It just wasn't the same no matter what old Valentine said, because at least he had the Death Penalty.

"It's new." I said while turning it over in my hands so that the blades caught the evening light and sent little rays bouncing off in all directions. I looked up and smiled sheepishly. "I'm still working on the name. "

It made him chuckle all deep in his chest like he was straining to hold it in and it was crawling its way out back out. "No one actually gets to know the name."

Leave it to Vincent to be rational. Of course they don't get to know the name. It's not like in Marlene's shows where the heroes charge in and yell, "Taste my Doom Star!" It's completely obvious that the people who write those things have never actually been in a real battle before. There's not enough time to think and really come up with a plan. It's entirely reaction, and usually you're so chocked up on adrenaline that when it's over you're wondering why you're standing lopsided, so that when you look down you're actually surprised to see that you're missing a foot, but it's totally fine because a real warrior is only thinking about how now he only has to buy one sock or shoe, and he's thrilled with the money he'll save. But yeah, life doesn't play out anything like the way comics do, although it would be entertaining to see. I can totally imagine Vincent busting through a door, "Eat lead." Or maybe even a, "Death Penalty Bullet to the Brain." Okay, okay, it _would_ be pretty ridiculous.

Vincent apparently took my brief silence as my surrender and turned, the slight turn of his head over his shoulder at was the only inclination that I should follow and that he wasn't running off.

"It was the principle of the matter." It wasn't my best attempt at covering up my embarrassment, because it wasn't exactly easy. It was kind of like hiding a bear in your socks, and unless you've got feet the size Barret's that's impossible because the bear's just going to get angry at being squished.

He nodded, and I was glad I couldn't see his eyes, because I knew the heaviness wouldn't be there. "If you insist."

It occurred to me that he hadn't just sensed I was in danger and then magically appeared to help by way of a new materia. No, that would have been amazing and awesome and maybe a bit weird that old doom and gloom could sense me –hey, what am I feeling now? – But it totally wasn't realistic, no matter what scientists were coming up with each day.

What was realistic was him out traveling for one reason or another, and he had heard all the commotion the kiamara bug had been making. Alright, so I might have been making a little noise. Okay, okay, I was making most of the noise, but being chased by a two ton insect doesn't exactly bring out the best in a girl. Though it did bring Vincent out of the woods, which meant he probably had a camp setup somewhere.

Half distracted I bumped into solid Vincent. His elbow caught my gut and I let out a little mewl as I stumbled to find my balance without upsetting my ankle more than the walk had.

It was a small clearing only ten or eleven yards wide in each direction, though it was made smaller by the fallen tree along the western edge. Tough little tree. It had held in one piece, when something, probably the wind, had pulled it up by the roots. Dirt and leaves clung to the ends of the roots where a little brown pack was leaned.

Honestly, it reminded me of the old days. Strange how I would moan about sleeping in a bedroll on the ground with Barret's snoring periodically waking me up, and now it seemed distant. There was always a little good natured bickering around the campfire, and the constant days spent covering as much ground as possible while fighting monsters or chasing a black caped man. They weren't so long ago, I know, but time has a funny way of feeling. It felt so long ago.

I missed it.

There. I said it. I missed it_**. **_

"Nice place you got here." Sometimes, it really is the little things that are nice.

He didn't answer, just followed me to where I had slumped atop the fallen tree. My ankle needed a moment to breathe. It felt like millions of tiny little ants were clawing away at it. It was probably going to swell up and turn some gross shade of purple. I started pulling at my boot, struggling to rip it off over my foot without undoing the buckles. Vincent hovered above me warily, so that when I made to slip my sock off and the pale of my calf was exposed his brows almost ran off his forehead.

"What?" I asked slipping the blue and yellow material the rest of the way down my calf and over my toes where little tufts of blue fabric clung.

He nodded to my foot, and I just wiggled my toes in reply. "It's not like they smell." I couldn't really bet on that since the fabric crunched between my fingers. It probably smelled as if someone had worn it for a year without changing or washing them. In actuality, it was eight months and two washes.

The flesh along my ankle was already showing hints of blue. My stupid ankle was going to make getting back to town and my nice toasty room at the inn a lot more interesting if I managed to run into anything else large and angry.

Each gentle prod of my fingers brought a thinner and thinner line to my lips. I would scrunch my face like a little pug dog trying to sneeze, until I felt the heat of someone watching on my forehead. When I looked up Vincent's jeweled eyes were inches from my own. Without a word of warning his pale hands – when had he removed his gauntlet and gloves? – took hold of me. One cold hand clasped my calf while the other caught my foot and pulled it towards where he knelt. The sudden shift of weight upset my balance so that I wobbled atop the fallen tree like a too tall candlestick in a too short base until I snapped my hands down to the back of the tree for support.

What sort of game was he playing?

I flapped my mouth, searching for a curse, but he spoke first. "It will only help some." The uncommon softness of his voice choked the curse before it even had a chance to churn up in my mind. "I purchased it two days ago." His hand slipped its way up from my foot to the swelling of my ankle. Adjusting the grip of his other hand on my calf, the one above my ankle began to emit a soft green glow.

There's something beautiful about a Cure spell. Maybe it's just the knowledge that you're going to be okay, but I really have a hard time pulling my eyes away from the glow. The colors, sometimes a little gold flecked within, always make me think of spring. A warm spring.

The pain softened almost immediately under a nice warm tingle like my foot had been placed into a bath, and I felt myself relax. Aeris told me that the warmth was only a sensation caused by the healing of the wound and not by the spell. A wound warms as it heals, and Cure is only speeding up the process. Sometimes, depending on the severity of the wound and the strength of the spell, it's almost like being set on fire, not that I would know. Right, so there was that one time when I was ten and I might have been too close to a Flame Grenade. My hip caught fire and there was this big to do in Wutai about whether or not I would survive. I did, and with barely a scar. Materia is like that. It can save just about anything. Except the dead. Except _her._

I'm so sorry Aeris.

Then my ankle felt hot like I had been in a hurry and hadn't let the water in my bath to cool. It reflexively jerked away, but Vincent's fingers held to my calf until the glowing withered into nothingness as poor and defeated as a dying candle. He lowered my foot to the ground where I turned it this way and that to test the tenderness, until I felt the unmistakable burn of his eyes on me.

He hadn't moved. Did I need to dismiss him like the servants my father had always relied on? At length I found my voice, "Thank you."

"I don't intend to carry you." He said, finally standing.

An odd statement. "Carry me?"

"I'll escort you to Gongaga."

"Escort?" Apparently I was only managing one word questions. My old man would hoot with laughter at the thought of me speechless, then thwomp the back of my head, and tell me I should have better manners.

He nodded. "I'm already headed that way. It would be right for me to make certain you found somewhere safe to recover."

Translation: He would feel responsible if something ate me for dinner. That's the way it was with Vincent. At the end of the day he probably cried over the ants he had stomped.

Then a thought slapped me upside the back of my head. It was far too easy to let myself fall into the giddiness. I couldn't even slow the smile that washed along my face.

Vincent eyed me speculatively, the only person that never backed away when I smiled devilishly. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm just lovely."

"Materia can sometimes…"

The first giggle slipped through. "Vincent, I'm great." It took some effort, but I managed to strangle the laughter down to a smirk. "You should ask me why."

With a glance at the trees as if he was debating ditching me, he let out a long suffering sigh. "Yuffie, I don't see how this is relevant."

"Just ask me why I'm lovely."

Another shift in his stance, and then old grumpy caved. "Why are you lovely?"

"Because I know your secret."

That caught his attention. His eyes sliced towards me and I felt my heart drop like it always did when he pinned me beneath the weight of that gaze. It was almost like hanging by my shoelaces with that kiamara bug swatting at me, except that I knew exactly what to expect with the bug. Vincent was a mystery.

He spoke my name warningly. Voice smooth and clear like ice with underlying _Don't tread unless you're prepared to fall through._

I grinned and leaned forward like a cat over the meal it had just caught. "You're really just a big softy." The intensity about him softened as I prattled on like the stream through my sleepy little home. "A huge weepy heart. You probably go around rescuing kittens out of trees and helping old ladies cross the street or do their grocery shopping for them. I'm going to tell everyone. I'll pass it out on flyers, maybe even rent a billboard."

If I had any expectation of how Vincent would respond, it was something akin to him sighing then changing the subject to dinner, and not even the good kind of dinner but the kind that's totally inedible because it's only partially cooked or partially alive and wholly denied settlement in my stomach as it's is only partial to wholly cooked meals. Instead, while I was gulping in air after my little speech, he made one of those moments in which I just knew I had to be dreaming, until I felt a twinge of pain in my ankle.

Vincent Valentine's lips twisted in the tiniest smirk. "They'll never believe you."

"You admit it!" I shouted, bolting up in my seat.

As if the Lifestream flow had sprouted under my bed with me clinging to the edges like a kitten – one old softy would rescue – at the completely unexpected, he laughed. Now it wasn't exactly a great big belly laugh, because I think we both know that a belly laugh from Vincent would mean delirium on either his or my own part. It was more like a chuckle. Either way it was some form of happiness followed by a small turn of his lips and he declared, "I admit nothing."

"Oh puh-lease!" I said slapping my thigh for effect, because it seemed like the thing to do to add credibility. "Everyone knows that's like admitting."

"Really?" There was the slightest vibration in his voice that made me think he was on the verge of another chuckle. "I wasn't aware of that."

"It's common knowledge."

I'd bet my materia that he knew.

He strode around me like a great shadow, knelt and began sifting through his pack against the tree. "There may be common knowledge, but knowledge isn't common."

Hold up. I've got to be honest for just one minute. Sometimes I really just don't know what Vincent is talking about. Honestly, I wonder if Vincent even knows what he's talking about. He has a tendency to speak in riddles. For all I know, he could just like sounding smart.

Eventually he stood, moving himself and his pack from where it had been pressed against the base of the tree roots and pulled a worn brown book from the bag. Then he sat himself down a few feet across the clearing with his back against a tree to begin shuffling through the yellowed pages.

It was strange and somewhat comforting to see Vincent reading. I didn't know Vincent read. Well, I mean I knew he could read, because even I could read. Shocking, I know, but I had tutors for that sort of thing when I got a little older. In that respect I was lucky, because back home only those who could afford such a luxury learned to read. My country was always more concerned with other sorts of education like say ninja training. That meant anything remotely scholarly, like reading wasn't pursued without some sort of financing.

Scholarly wasn't exactly something I had labeled Vincent. Gloomy and cranky, sure, but not exactly the reading type. It was the sort of discovery that made me want to step back and rethink myself and other people. If Tifa started crocheting I'd have to take up ballet, or maybe body building, because who wouldn't want to see my short butt with muscles the size of Barret's. Well, Barret maybe. He'd probably take it as a compliment as he's always telling Marlene that copying is the highest form of flattery. Yeah right.

Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually have to be the center of attention. In fact I get a little embarrassed when all eyes are on me. Think of it like a mild case of stage fright but without a stage and with your friends present. Well it doesn't really have to be just my friends, because complete strangers bring out the panic feeling in me too. I'm not at all bias with my embarrassment. I share it with everyone.

Just about anything can embarrass me, so you'd think I'd get over it since I'm pretty much embarrassed most of the time, but you'd be wrong. Majorly wrong. Just like this myth about me. Sure, I enjoy speaking my mind, because apparently I did happen to take after my old man in one thing, and that was his need to share his opinion on everything, but I don't really appreciate all the focus on me. But of course, here our intrepid heroine, muah, is stuck in the middle of the forest. Just the two of us here, and Vincent Valentine would rather read.

Talk about a blow to the ego.

Not that we have much if anything to really talk about, but after my brush with death and his unexpected rescue he practically owed it to me to talk. At the very least he could put the book down and pretend to listen like he was prone to do. He wasn't getting away that easily.

"I didn't know you read."

He didn't so much as glance up. "I do."

I rolled my eyes and sighed, then sighed again for good measure. When he still didn't look up, I gave a little cough that turned into a bitter laugh as it too failed to gain his attention. "Vincent." I practically purred. When his eyes finally rose to mine I tucked my hands beneath my thighs and rolled forward feigning interest and flashed him my best girlish smile as I asked, "Whatcha reading?"

"It's a novel detailing the lives of several individuals around the fall of the Cetra." Instantly he was drawn back to his book until he thought better and glanced up for a moment to clarify, "Historical fiction."

As if I couldn't figure that one out on my own!

"Go on."

He glanced up over the weathered pages with one of his brows lifted skeptically. "You're taking an interest in literature?" Apparently I wasn't the only one having trouble envisioning the other as a reader.

My face bunched up and I turned my eyes away, laughing bitterly. "You say it like you're watching an animal discover tools."

There wasn't a reply. Nothing verbal anyways, because the silence, well, it and the look he gave me solidified words in my own mind just as if he'd placed them there.

And that's why my old man says you don't go reaching in the shark tank. Everything bites.

I coughed, unable to form words for a moment and trying to leave a note somewhere in the back of my mind that whenever I had two good feet again, then I'd rob him blind. Everything he owned would be mine. If I could keep up with where he was then he'd wake up without his pants. Gawd, I hoped he had something on underneath them or it might just make things awkward – for both of us.

It took awhile to figure out how to reactivate the part of my brain that controlled speech. There were only words – single and colorful – I'd heard from Cid bouncing about in my brain. Then I found a growl growing within me. "I'm _not_ an animal, Vincent."

At the sudden flare of my temper he closed the book. "I didn't say you were."

"You didn't have to." I grumbled.

That would have been the part where I'd stomp out the room and slam doors in my wake if it weren't for the fact I was on one good leg, which effectively removed my ability to stomp away with dignity, and of course we weren't in a room for me to have a door to slam.

"Forgive me." He said, dipping his head slightly. "Nothing was meant by it."

There's nothing like hearing an apology. It's like plastic surgery for the soul. It takes something that's grown ugly and changes it into something lovely. It presses all the little folds and sags back to where they should be. But for me an apology usually makes me go all tingly and I can't help but smile because I know I've coerced someone into believing they had done something wrong.

Vincent ruined apologies for me. I'd probably never take the same ridiculous joy out of one again. Something about his apology had my stomach turning like that big airship of Cid's. Just the thought of him apologizing had me wanting to find a ditch to crawl into and empty my stomach.

"You know," I said conversationally, dulling the sickness that had begun to set in, creeping around behind what was left of my lunch. "I don't think anyone back home really knows that much about the Cetra."

"That's because there isn't much information that remains on the Cetra." He rubbed at the corner of the cover. "This book won't help in that regard. It's dreamy and sentimental." His voice had already taken on that tone of his that usually left me feeling about the size of a blade of grass or maybe even a pebble. Probably one that he would kick.

Of course no one really knows much about the Cetra. There aren't any left. Aeris really didn't know much to tell either. Sometimes I don't think before I speak. Put it off to my age if you want.

"I just meant that Wutai really hasn't taken much interest in the outside world for years, so…" I was scrambling to come up with some sort of answer. Something that would pass for understandable. "We know even less about the Cetra. What little I know came from Aeris."

"We've been so closed off. My old man hasn't done too much to help the situation. Everything he's done he claims to be for the better of our country, but you know I can't help but wonder if it's not actually holding us back. How misguided he might have been." And somehow I couldn't stop. Add a little campfire and night, and maybe someone that doesn't talk and just listens and then it's like all the little doors open and everything just tumbles out. Maybe I should just wear a muzzle. Cid would just love that. "I know what he's thinking. I saw what the war did to Wutai, how it left it, but things are different now. The whole world is going forward and he's still running backwards."

"Have you spoken with him about this?"

It took a moment for me to realize he'd spoken. There wasn't enough room up in my head for his words since my own thoughts were pouring out from the cracks. They were the same thoughts that I had been trying to avoid by taking a side trip through the Gongaga forest, and look where that got me.

"Of course, I have." I growled, giving him a sharp look that merely received a lifted brow in return. "Sort of." Liar. "Not really." My stomach twisted. "I might have mentioned it in passing."

I leaned back against the log and pulled my legs up, so that I was staring at the sky where the first stars were beginning to press through the dying light. If I were lucky the whole sorry conversation would fade away with the light.

But luck really hadn't been on my side.

He leaned half-interested over his book and leveled his gaze at the side of my face where I was watching him from the corners of my eyes. "If by _in passing_ you mean never then I understand why things remain as they are. You really should speak with him about it as it sounds as though you've given it thought, and may have some ideas. I'm sure Godo would be pleased that you're taking an interest in your home."

Something unintelligible even to me tumbled off my lips as I stared up at the stars, absently picking out the constellations I knew.

"Oh?" He asked idly, as if it had been an actual answer and not merely my own avoidance of the problem. Obviously, Vincent Valentine, hero of the world and one of the most intimidating people to walk the planet was not used to being ignored when he was unfairly lecturing someone who clearly wanted to be anywhere else. He tried again, "You should speak with him. How do you expect to make a change if you do nothing about it?"

Involuntarily my hand slapped my forehead. "You and the rest of Avalanche barely listen when I talk, and you really think that my crazy old man is going to listen to me?"

"He's your father." Vincent began as though he was speaking to a child, and I guess to him I really was. "If you talk, he'll listen."

"Maybe if we were talking about weapons or materia he'd listen," Not that I'd ever really attempted to speak with my old man about anything remotely serious. Not even when Mama died. Silence was as close to swimming in deep water as we ever got. The Kisaragi family is just awesome like that. "But he's not going to take political advice from me of all people."

"If you were to speak with him-"

"He'd probably say something like," Here I began my impressive impersonation of my father, complete with bulging eyes and exaggerated hand movements, because he was practically a living cartoon. "Silly girl you spend all that time with your friends making a name for yourself and now you come back to tell me," Here I rapped myself on my chest for effect and then wagged a finger disapprovingly at the sky, "Lord of Wutai, how to run affairs? Are your breeches really that big now?"

Vincent let out a strangled noise, almost like a dying cat, so I grinned to myself and kept going, gathering up speed. "Come here and let me measure you. You can wear a set of mine now, until the tea begins to melt away those extra sizes. Or perhaps I should have you covered in saw dust and hung by your ankles from DaChao's nose until whatever evil spirit that has made itself welcome in you has left as you see it could only be a spirit that would say such things. My daughter is frivolous and would not know how to run a tea shop let alone all of Wutai. She would confuse the leaves of tea for mandrake and the sugar with dream powder."

"Yuffie."

There wasn't any stopping me. I was on a roll. Try to keep the small children out of the way.

"Or perhaps you are not a spirit at all, but simply under a manipulation spell. Then shall I send you to the Pagoda so that Chekhov might slap you with rotting fish fins until you regain your senses, or maybe I could dress you as a chocobo and have you carry everyone about until the weight of reality has pressed all traces of the spell from within."

From somewhere to my right there was another sound, deeper and almost rumbly like thunder, then Vincent's voice followed as cool as ever. "This is getting a bit ridiculous."

Valentine I took a flying leap passed ridiculous ages ago.

"Maybe you are in fact someone disguised as my daughter hoping to weasel one's self into the inner workings of our land. If that is the case then I should have you covered in honey and tied to a tree so that whatever passes may have a taste of you."

"I would suggest syrup."

"And then I would call for everyone to come and watch – of course syrup would be better, but – wait, what?" My thoughts slammed into one another in what would have been a hideously sticky car accident as I jerked myself back up, eyeballing Vincent. At first he looked the same as ever, dark and gloomy, but then I noticed the quirk of the lip and it took all I had not to jump to my feet pointing, because if there's one thing I learned about Vincent Valentine it's that you have to treat him like a baby dear, or else you might frighten him away.

Cautiously I leaned forward and squinted at him in the glow of the fire. "Did you really think you could just sneak that in there without me noticing?"

There was something rather self assured about the way he shifted his shoulders and met me square on, lip quirking a bit more. "I wouldn't have dreamed of it."

And then it hit me. Literally. A pine cone landed squarely on the top of my head and if I hadn't known better, which I'm starting to rethink, then I would have thought that the tree had a spirit in it and that spirit had teamed up with Vincent.

I leapt off my tough little log, rubbing my head and glared up at the tree. "I'm warning you!" Admittedly I just react most of the time. My mouth runs away before my brain has a chance to catch up. "That's no way to treat a lady!"

It's a little sad to admit, but I was honestly trying to decide whether kicking the tree or throwing the pine cone back at it was better when I finally registered the sound behind me. It was faint at first like an earthquake, growing steady for a moment, but rather fleeting because by the time I turned around it was gone. It didn't appear that he had moved. He was still seated with his hand resting atop his book. Those dark eyes were fixed on me as I stood there with mouth open as my brain was hurrying to shuffle the pieces into a different form of order, because the shape they had formed was entirely too unbelievable.

Laughter. It had to have been laughter, but Vincent never laughed. Maybe a cough or a chuckle but never a real laugh. But those sounds Vincent had been making while I was caught up in my ridiculousness had to have been the sound of his laughter.

Then I was struck by one thing. Vincent had the most ridiculous laugh I had ever heard. No wonder he was always so stoic. He was probably picked on by all the other little boys when he was younger. It was probably why he became a Turk, so that he could defend himself when someone poked fun of his laugh, except that all the other Turks weren't afraid because they'd had the same training.

My mind was already beginning to run through the many ways I could use to my advantage the knowledge that Vincent's laugh sounded like a cat being shaken around in a burlap sack. Hey, don't go pointing fingers. I said Vincent took away the enjoyment from apologies, not blackmail. As far as I'm concerned it's still free game.

"I suppose I should be worried by that look." Vincent said with a hint of weariness, like the edges of his sharpness had been filed away.

I laughed, plopping myself right down in the dirt and pulled my legs up to my chest. "Now that sounds awfully familiar."

"Your father?"

"Pft! No!" I scratched at my neck as I tried to pull the name from the shadows of my memories. It had been a long time since I had seen him. He had been long legged and a bit awkward until the rest of his body caught up with those legs. The name didn't come with the image, so I continued, "The Kwan boy, not the smith's son, but the other one. The one who's dad died during childbirth."

That got his attention. He had a brow lifted and even one of his lips was taking on a strange angle. When he finally spoke, there was the underlying statement that I had misspoken. "His father died during childbirth?"

"That's right." I said biting my lip to keep from smiling, though it broke around my hold. "He got drunk and fell off the roof while he was being born."

Vincent gave a small smile. "What was he doing on the roof?"

"Celebrating?" My shoulders bobbed automatically. "How should I know? I was only eleven. But I do know it was all anyone talked about for months."

Again, he smiled, giving the briefest glimpse of his teeth. "I'm sure."

"It got so bad that anytime someone thought you were going to do something stupid all the old nanny goats in town would come out waving their canes and hollering," For emphasis I shook my fist in the air, doing my best to make my voice sound old despite the fact that it only sounded more like a witch's. "Don't you go pullin' a Kwan on me now! No more of this nonsense!"

"That must have been hard for you."

"Excuse me?" My ears were burning from the sudden zinger he thought he'd made. "Is that supposed to mean that I do stupid things?"

We're not counting today.

"I was merely suggesting that groups of," He paused clearing his throat, to hide what was suspiciously beginning to look like the making of yet another smile. "Old nanny goats making such comments could be difficult to deal with."

For a moment I just sat there staring at him, because it occurred to me that he was just about the most insufferable person I had ever met. I sucked my lips together lifting both my brows trying to set him ablaze with my eyes. "Don't play stupid with me Vincent Valentine. I'm better at it than you are."

In one swift motion I raised a hand palm facing him to halt any retorts he could think of while I leaned under the edge of the fallen tree to retrieve my bag. Just as my fingers clenched around one of the straps Vincent spoke up. "But it would be best if you spoke with him."

My head cracked against the bottom of the tree which sent a sharp wave of pain zipping down my skull and out my spine. I pawed at the new source of pain, sidling out from beneath the tree.

Someone please give this man a medal. Do all Turks have the ability to follow through that many changes of subject and still retain the original conversation? Maybe it was something he had been trained in; either that or he'd been forced to be around me so much between Avalanche and the World Regenesis Organization that he'd developed the skill to follow that many changes of subject. I'd done my best to lead him on a merry chase. Usually even Reeve had forgotten why he was reprimanding me after the second.

It was time to switch tactics.

"Vin-cent!" Over dramatically I threw myself against the tree, arms wrapped about my head to conceal my face, "I really don't wanna talk about it anymore!"

"I'm unsure why as you were the one who mentioned it."

The bark cracked as my fingers tightened into the tree. "Go be stumped by something that's actually confusing, like quantum physics, knitting or high heeled shoes."

There was the muffled sound of movement, but I couldn't see well enough through the crack between my shoulder and the tree to make out what he was doing. The thought occurred to me that he could have decided I was being too difficult and reconsidered his suggestion of escorting me to Gongaga. If that were the case I'd be stuck out here in the middle of the forest with nothing but the oversized bugs and my thoughts. Bad combination if there ever was one. I'd probably end up trying to soothe my wounded ego and just upset something worse than a kimara bug, so when the silence continued for a few minutes and the panicked feeling of being left behind became too much I snapped back around.

Over the edge of his book, Vincent glanced up at me calmly. He was still leaning against the tree across from me with his long legs crossed at the ankle looking every bit as though he could have been in a meadow somewhere on a picnic. All he needed was a glass of ice lemonade.

Floundering for something to hide the fact that he had just called my bluff, I began glancing about the clearing. "I realized I lost my socks."

He nodded, then very slowly lifted his hand and pointed towards my hip where a snake of navy blue fabric had been haphazardly discarded. My eyes slipped shut as I sighed defeatedly. Of course, they were exactly where I dropped them.

Snatching the socks from the dirt and leaves, I said. "I meant my other pair." The moment the words left my mouth I knew I had slipped up.

"You've started carrying a second pair?"

"Well," I managed to keep my voice from shaking. "Reeve ordered me to. Something about not wanting to hear me complain about wet socks."

Even I have to admit that I'm a gem under pressure. As Old Saki use to say, now if only I could keep myself from having to dig my way out of the river.

Vincent pulled a leg up and propped one of his arms against it. "How very unlike him."

He had me on the defensive and he knew it. He had to be enjoying this. I know _I'd_ be enjoying this.

For the record, I'm rather clever. My old man told me that when I was five my mother was returning from the Pagoda and found me on the roof. But wait, how's being caught on the roof as a child clever you ask? Well, there wasn't exactly a clear path. It's not like my parents left a ladder leaned against our house or a rope dangling from the roof. To this day my old man still wonders how I got up there, and I don't intend to tell. That one's going to the grave with me.

My cleverness, one would think, would actually do wonders for getting me out of these sort of situations, but as with digging out of the river, they just sort of made things worse. Usually I'd at least escape for a little while, until I had forgotten exactly what story I had told and my nonexistent aunt that was so ill she could hardly keep broth down was suddenly needing me to visit her in Costa del Sol because she was celebrating the buying of a new house and was intending to get very drunk.

"I know." I said miserably, slipping one of the socks on over my foot and yanking it up to my knee. Gathering the second sock into a smaller roll, I slipped it on, careful not to jolt my ankle which despite the cure spell earlier was still a little tender.

Feeling Vincent watching me, I avoided his gaze by picking off the broken pieces of leaves that had stuck to the neck of my sock. By the way he had been earlier he was probably debating on a way to bring back up our discussion on my father and Wutai, either that or he really was enjoying making me squirm and was deciding how next to proceed with his sock interrogation. He could ask me about the last time I washed them, because he knew far too well that my socks were only washed when I visited Cloud and Tifa, since she held a firm belief that socks should be worn no more than twice without a washing. Weird little neat freak.

When I couldn't handle the heat of his gaze on me anymore I waved a hand at him. "Oh hush."

"I didn't say anything." He said, sounding genuinely confused.

"But you were thinking," Belatedly I added, "It's distracting."

Vincent returned his gaze to his book for appearances sake as the last of the light had faded and he was too far from the firelight. The barest of smirks was beginning to form as he spoke. "Ah, forgive me. I didn't mean to distract you from your sock."

"You know what," I growled searching within my arms reach for something to throw at him. "I'd challenge you to a battle of wits, but it just doesn't feel right to attack someone who's unarmed."

"Of course." He said nodding which usually I would've thought was only condescending on others, but with the way he had been behaving since we'd gotten to camp I had my suspicions.

It isn't usually in my nature to just let someone feel like they won. Generosity was something my mother had been trying to instill in me until her accident, while my father was more concerned with the traditional traits of our people like honor, bravery, and of course selfishness. Okay, so the last one wasn't really a trait of our people, but it was definitely something my father taught me. So when I say that I was being generous and let him feel like I couldn't think of something to come back with, you need to know that I was really doing something big. Almost like giving him the Leviathan materia, excepting that I wouldn't. Ever. Period. He would have to send Tifa at me bawling, and even then I probably wouldn't hand it over.

Silently I stood and laid myself out on top of the tree again, so that I could really watch the stars. Using my hands as a pillow, I stared up at what appeared to be a firefly studded sky. Odd how things work. Perfectly above the clearing hung the group of stars my home called the Songbird. It had been years since I had really given the story any thought, but it had been bothering me lately.

"Vincent?"

"Yes, Yuffie."

I couldn't pull my eyes from the stars, not even long enough to see if he was really paying attention or if he was just answering out of reflex as he so often did. "You ever heard of the Songbird of Wutai?"

"No." He said simply.

Knowing that he could have shot me down, I began, dazedly staring up at the eight stars that made the Songbird, and felt the spirit of a storyteller take over. My voice became a passage for all the ancestors who had told the tale and I swear for a moment I think I lost myself in there with the memories of the times they had shared the story.

"It was back with the first of our ancestors, when what's now Wutai was really just a small group of houses, and there were still a few Cetra living up in the north. There was a beautiful young maiden there that was very skilled at singing healing in the village. She was promised to a young man from a neighboring village. The problem was that she had secretly been in love with a man from her own."

I paused, allowing the memories to breathe upon me. "She went to her father and begged him not to marry her off, but he wouldn't change his mind." The fire popped happily, reminding me that I paused again. For a moment, I let myself glance at Vincent whose face was a strange mixture of firelight and shadow. He nodded for me to continue, so I turned back to the sky and took a breath. "As she was leaving from her talk with her father she saw the man she cared for with another young woman."

"It destroyed her. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving, and now she couldn't bear to stay, so she ran down to the river and threw herself on its bank pleading to the old gods to save her, but not one listened. So each day after she would throw herself on the bank begging the gods to free her until one day Leviathan grew tired of this and went to her. He offered to use his own skills to free her if she would give him her own. The maiden agreed, but she had no skills. She had never been very skilled with a weapon. The only thing she had ever been good at was to sing healing into people, so she sang for Leviathan who was brought to tears at her voice. He could not take her voice, but unable to go back on his word Leviathan turned her into a blue and violet songbird. It was the songbird that could not sing. Knowing he had to keep to his word he had taken _her_ voice. The songbird could sing the most beautiful songs she had heard better than the birds she had heard them from, but she could not sing her own songs. The songbird grew sad and returned to the river each day singing everything she heard in hopes that one day Leviathan would hear her tears again, but he never did…"

There was more to the story, but it only gets more depressing from there.

The two of us sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, Vincent watching the fire and me gawking at the stars and feeling a little odd that I had been so serious for so long. It was almost like having an itch the way the need to say or do something to break the mood came on. If we were inside I'd probably yell _fire_ and take off.

"Stupid bird really doesn't sound all that great." I chuckled more to appease myself than anything.

And I was lying. I tend to do that a bit too much. It really does sound special.

"Your father is beginning marriage arrangements."

Jackpot! Vincent has always had a sixth sense about things, and I really should have known that he wasn't going to drop the conversation. Countless topics and a story later Vincent is still thinking about the earlier conversation. Of course he would put two and two together. Well, I guess I should give him credit for persistence, and maybe a solid kick to the spleen.

"Vincent," There wasn't much bite in my voice as I draped my throwing arm over my face. "I thought we agreed not to talk about it anymore."

There was a bit of rustling from his direction as it sounded like he added a piece of wood to the fire. "We agreed not to discuss you speaking to your father."

A minor detail.

"And this is related, so I think it's covered under that agreement." I gave him a moment to think it over, and when I didn't get a response all the air whooshed out of me in defeat. "He's looking into possibilities."

"And you disagree."

My arm snapped down against the tree. "Of course I do! It's my life!"

"That wasn't a question." He said flatly, and I could hear the crunch of his boots as he shifted himself in what was probably preparation for him to dodge a flying object from me.

Rolling onto my stomach I started tracing the divots between the bark with my finger, pausing to dig my nail underneath a piece. It cracked loudly as I pulled, splintering into several smaller pieces. "I'm not especially fond of the idea of being used as a token, just something to trade."

"He used to tell me that story all the time when I was little." Then it was like I was a pianist and the notes just sprang from my fingertips. "Come to think of it he was probably just telling me that to make me accept my place."

"What is your place?" He asked all deep and mystical.

"How should I know?" Huffed out of me, then I sighed and looked at him for the first time since I had told him the story. "But it's not as his tool with some person he chose."

"Are you opposed to the idea simply because you would consider yourself at the dispense of your father, or," Vincent asked with about as much interest as a wet fish. "Do you have a secret love as well?"

If I had anything in my mouth I would have sprayed it everywhere. As it was I sputtered and coughed, nearly losing my balance on the fallen tree when I shot up.

Vincent was a social idiot if there ever was one. Either that or he could really just not have any tact. If I were him I'd be hoping for social idiot because at least it could be cured.

"No!" I shouted, because being asked if you were secretly in love by a social idiot just seemed like the time to shout. "I'm not secretly in love!" My face was burning and I seriously hoped that the gold tint of the firelight hid what I was sure to be the worst blush in years.

My eyes were bouncing between Vincent's and the fire. He was watching me intently as though even in his social idiocy he could read my reaction well enough to understand what I was thinking. Then, absurdly I giggled, the kind of nervous hysteria giggle that comes when the embarrassment is too much and I'm one step away from bolting. "I don't even know anyone. Besides between Avalanche and the WRO there's really no chance."

"Then perhaps your father choosing a suitor for you would be beneficial." He offered levelly.

"What?"

He reassured the next step, but all I could see it as was the last. "If you don't have an opportunity then maybe your father choosing for you would save in the long run."

We weren't going down this stupid sucky hole. Even if I was a spelunker with rope, and one of those awesome hats with the light on it, and that could lead to some seriously awesome evenings with shadow puppets, we weren't going down that hole. He had lost what little sense he had if he actually thought I was going to just agree to be married off to the highest bidder.

"This isn't about the time." I growled. "It's about me getting to live my life as I see fit."

"You still could." He said leaning over the leg he had pulled up to his chest.

"No." There was an undeniably large part of me that wanted to cross the distance between us and show him exactly why I had chosen the name Doom Star for my new shuriken. "I'm not going to let him! He won't do it!"

Vincent leaned back looking about as self assured as a person could get.

"Alright Vincent." I laughed softly, suddenly feeling a little bit like a chocobo herded into a pen. "I'll talk to the old man."

"Good." He said softly, and took up a stick to stir at the flames that rose and wove together like a thin gold and crimson tapestry in a breeze.

The two of us sat staring into the fire.

No matter what I felt about that stupid hole he had opened, there was too much truth in his words even if he had only said them to plant the seed of fight in me. For a minute there, I was beginning to consider the possibility of what my old man had always called duty and responsibility, something I had always wanted to stop even if it meant running, because duty and responsibility had only even been a one way ticket to being caged.

Sometimes, just sometimes, when he was alone by the river and I crept up on him and caught the emptiness in his eyes, I wondered if he had hated it as much I did, and that was lots and forever.

Instantly I was snapped from my thoughts when a rumbling gurgled over the crackle of our campfire. It was kind of like seeing your idol without any makeup or fumbling to zip themselves into pants that were too small. Vincent looked away in some mild show of embarrassment.

"If you're hungry there's some cheese and crackers in my pack." I said smiling a bit too sticky sweet.

He shook his head. "There's no need."

Disagreement rumbled out from his stomach, and I swear that man actually looked sheepish. Here you've got to let me sidetrack, because exactly what does that word mean? I mean we say people look sheepish and they don't actually resemble sheep. At least I hope not, because then you'd be talking about some rather long faced fluffy people walking around, and I think we would all agree that it would just be weird. Okay, sorry, rant's over.

"Actually," I said chuckling slow and easy. "There is." My socked feet were on the ground and I was scooping up my pack before it occurred to me that I probably should have put my shoes on. "I'll translate for you." There I did my best to drop my voice even with his, and bellowed out so that he wouldn't have any trouble hearing me in the silence of the night. "Feed me!"

With no chance to reply I continued on. "No, wait. It was probably more like this," The second time I kept my voice monotone, and let my eyes lose focus so that all emotion slipped from my face, then quickly pulled a few strands of hair to curtain my face some. "I require sustenance."

Vincent was not amused. If you ask me, I did a great job with my impression of his stomach. He should have been in complete awe of me for my ability to recreate such an exact replication of his stomach's chatter. In fact, he should have praising me, bowing even. But of course, that's not at all Vincent, just about as much as I'm not at all the type to apologize. The idea is like a poodle in a leather jacket, see, laughable even.

Time for damage control. "Do you want the food or not?" That was me, all consideration.

There seemed to be more things stashed in my pack than I had remembered. A tin filled with my extra materia, a few wadded maps, a couple dozen throwing knives, my conformer, a canteen, and of course the cheese crackers, but I was having a hard time reaching them through all the souvenirs had I purchased. There was an oversized yellow shirt with a chocobo on it that I had bought because it made me giggle, and a pair of sandals that I knew Tifa would want me to buy despite the fact that I would probably never wear them. And of course Squishy, the giant stuffed marshmallow that I had gotten for Barret. Cloud really shouldn't have let that one slip.

At last my fingers tightened on the bag with my snacks. Carefully, I unwrapped the block of cheese, holding it up for him to see, and then I patted the log to my left, little pieces of bark tore free under my touch.

Eventually after I gave him my best mother bird look and patted the log again, he stood, as though he were a great mountain he slowly crossed the distance. Vincent paused, eying me with that sort of look that seemed to say _I haven't figured out what you're up to yet, but I'm onto you. _Then he sat himself beside me and with a holier than though tone asked, "Animal crackers?"

"You are never too old for animal crackers." From within the bag I plucked a chocobo, squatty and shaped into an angry dash, and bit its head off for emphasis. Between smacks, I shrugged. "Besides, I don't see what's wrong with making meal time a fun occasion."

His only response was to reach into the bag and pull out a dog that was chasing its tail. Eagerly I watched as Vincent tucked the cracker into his mouth whole. Satisfied he wasn't going to spit it out, I laughed. "This is another thing I should tell the world." Without giving him a moment to ask what I was rambling on about I giggled. "Vincent Valentine's favorite snack is a box of animal crackers. Think of the gil you could make if you endorsed them. I bet they'd even start making little Vincent shaped crackers."

"I'd rather not." He said surprising me by grabbing a few more crackers. Maybe he was really enjoying the crackers. His inner child could be busting out. I glanced sideways at him; he was swiping crumbs from his legs. Who was I kidding? Vincent probably didn't have an inner child. He probably walked right out of the womb.

Tossing a couple crackers into my mouth, a thought struck me. "About earlier…"

"I know very little of quantum physics." He said dryly. "And less of high heeled shoes."

"That's Shinra for you," I said mashing a cracker on the side of the tree. "It starts with high heels, and then progresses into weapons development."

"Hojo didn't design high heels." He said between handfuls of crackers.

"You're missing the point." I sat the bag and its yummy contents to my right, and stared down at my toes. "No, I was going to say thanks for your help earlier. Sometimes I think, well more like wonder about everyone."

He leaned closer.

"I just don't know that if they knew something was wrong..."

"I didn't know." He cut me off flatly.

"Again, missing the point."

With a deep breath to steel myself it was a mistake I went into of my own choice. "What if they would have left me?"

There. I said it. After years I finally gave voice to the fear that had always been in the crevices of my mind. I had always been on the edges, never really in the center, and no matter what I had done I couldn't change that. It was like being the thumb on a hand with four fingers, always within sight, but just out of reach. And as the daughter of the Lord of Wutai there were certain rules, which meant that the other children were usually kept at arm's length.

Again he leaned closer, jeweled eyes level with my own. "They won't leave you." The distance between us shrank again. "I won't leave you."

To someone from the outside I probably looked like a mannequin, some projection at the Gold Saucer, frozen in time. I couldn't move. Vincent was mere inches from me with dark strands of his hair falling to frame his face and cast dark shadows along the fine angles of his jaw.

The space between us continued to shrink, and my own breaths began to mimic. He was just too close. I could practically feel the heat radiating from his body as his words echoed in my ears. Just as he was beginning to close the distance I felt my stomach drop, and the fear kicked me square in the teeth so that I jumped in my seat. The sudden motion set me off balance, so that arms flailing I fell backwards onto the dirt with a great whoosh of air out of my lungs. Between my feet I gaped wide eyed up at Vincent who was staring down at me with one hand poised atop the bag of animal crackers that had been to my right.

Stupid, stupid girl. You can add a bazillion exclamation points to that.

Everything that followed was a reaction. My feet were under me and I was vaulting over the tree in an instant, snatching my shoes from the dirt and bolting from the clearing.

"Later!" I called, waving over my shoulder as I left what was sure to be either a very amused or very confused Vincent.

He probably didn't have enough time to form a reason for my departure when I came stomping, or rather trying to stomp between hobbles, back into the clearing. "My bag." I said trying to sound casual. What little dignity I had left I intended to keep, so I held my chin up as best as I could and avoided his eyes entirely. He could have the damn crackers, I wasn't getting that close, and for all I knew the way his form wasn't moving – I was trying to avoid him entirely- he could have been dead, but I didn't have anything long enough to poke him with to find out.

When my bag was within reach, I snatched it and the rubber band that held me calm broke. That time I was in the forest faster than a monkey with a wrench. You know, give a monkey a wrench and he'll get into trouble immediately.

It wasn't long after the dying of the fire that I crept back into camp. No matter what happened, he was still supposed to be my escort to Gongaga. It would have been totally reckless for me to go burning red into the forest injured. That's me, always concerned with well being.

When the rough hand of first light woke me to a very strange sight I moaned knowing that traveling with Vincent to Gongaga was going to be more complicated than I had thought. Directly in front of my face had been a perfectly rolled pair of large white socks.

There was one very clear fact. Apparently Vincent Valentine did have a sense of humor.

.

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**Author's Note: **If you can believe it, this started as just a short scene for my other story Beneath the Bleeding Sun, however as it grew longer I just couldn't find it in me to cut some of the piece. I took the time to go back and change the point of view, because I really felt it would be a lot stronger told from Yuffie. Overall I'm really pleased with the way it came out, however there are still some places that I feel need some serious tweaking.


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